Love Will Conquer
by AllTypesOfTreble
Summary: 10 years since Christine and her beloved Phantom have parted ways. 10 years of yearning, pining, and two souls giving all they can give. But the bridge will soon snap as desire cannot be extinguished. Now they reunite during the Paris World Fair of 1889, with another shot at embracing their hearts desire. A Love Never Dies fic
1. Chapter 1

Setting: This is a _Love Never Dies_ story with essentially all the same elements of the original. However there were many things in _Love Never Dies_ that made no sense to me. First and foremost, the setting. God knows why ALW chose to move _Phantom of the Opera_ , the most beautifully tragic romance story ever to be written, from Paris, the city of love, to Coney Island, literally the most disgusting place on earth (told from a lifetime New Yorker). So I decided to keep the story in Paris, where their love begins and where it will grow. Another aspect of the setting that confused me was the timeline. ALW said he set _Love Never Dies_ approximately 10 years after the original story, however _Love Never Dies_ is set in the early 1900s. The original story was most probably set during the 1880s and the 1900s is a bit of a stretch to fit the timeframe that ALW gives. For creative purposes, however, I've decided to use 1879 as the year the events of _Phantom of the Opera_ took place. In doing so 10 years after would set us in Paris 1889, during the World Fair Expo. The setting seemed to fit for a _Phantom of the Opera_ sequel much more than a theme park in Coney Island.

Characters: Another major problem I had with _Love Never Dies_ is how the characters don't feel genuine. Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry all felt like completely different people. Hopefully in this retelling I do these characters justice.

Disclaimer: I sadly don't own any part of the Phantom of the Opera fandom. The musical belongs to ALW. _Phantom_ belongs to Susan Kay. And _Phantom of the Opera_ belongs to the genius Gaston Leroux.

* * *

"What story would you like to hear, my dearest?" a woman asked.

"The Angel of Music," a small excited voice replied.

"The Angel of Music? Why, you ask for that story every night," the woman's voice held an air of amusement.

"Please, Mama, it's my favorite," the little boy pleaded from his bed.

"It was my favorite too," the woman's eyes glazed over in nostalgia and her smile wavered. She focused her eyes on her small son and gave him a tender kiss on his forehead. She tucked him in tightly and began the story.

In the doorway, a man listened. He listened to the quiver in his wife's voice, and the excitement in his son's as he said the next part from memory. He listened to the tale of the Angel of Music with a heavy heart and clenched fists. He had assumed that he would be rid of that cursed _Angel of Music_ when they got out of that Opera House, when he and Christine got married, when they moved out of Paris, when their son was born. He expected to remember the man beneath the Opera House as nothing but a nightmare they would soon forget. He didn't expect that man to still consume Christine's thoughts after 10 years. And he certainly didn't expect to hear the story of her cursed _Angel_ every night as a cherished bedtime story for their son.

The story was finished. Christine stood up from the bed and whispered a goodnight to her tired son. She smiled gently and brushed away a dark curl from his forehead.

"Why do you have to tell him that story, Christine?" the man in the doorway asked.

"It's his favorite. You heard him ask for it," Christine didn't turn around, instead choosing to gaze upon the sleeping face of her son.

She heard him sigh. "I just don't understand why you told him that story at all."

"My father told me that story and now I'm telling it to my son," She replied softly.

"You know that's not the story that your father told you, Little Lotte."

She knew. She knew that even though she repeated the same lines, they weren't the same. The story she told was nothing like the original.

"Christine, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to-" Raoul let out a heavy sigh and started rubbing his eyes, "-I'm not trying to fight with you. I just simply don't understand how you can still think of him as your Angel."

Raoul entered the room to wrap his arms around his wife. "But I know that he's important to you both, so if you both still want to think of him fondly, then I won't take that away from you," he placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck. He felt her place her hand on his foreman and squeeze in reassurance. He smiled into her curls.

"I've still got some work to finish up, you go on to bed first. It'll be a few hours before I'm done," he placed one last kiss on her neck and walked away.

Christine's hands were shaking. She didn't turn around so he couldn't have seen the tears in her eyes. Of course he wouldn't understand; Christine didn't even understand either. Why she couldn't move on.

 _Raoul_. _Dear sweet Raoul_.

Christine entered her own bedchamber with a heavy heart. A wife that lies to her husband every day, a son that isn't his, a night that her marriage forbids. She's the one that needs to sleep with that.

* * *

"Father! Father! Look what I drew," Gustave ran into Raoul's study.

Raoul let out a small laugh at the child's excitement. He picked Gustave up and placed him on his lap.

"What have you drawn, Gustave?" The boy handed him a piece of paper covered in charcoal. Undoubtedly the boy was talented beyond his years, the likeness he could capture on paper was astounding. The boy was a genius, but it wasn't the talent that made Raoul speechless, it was what was drawn on the paper. It was like seeing a ghost.

"Why-why have you drawn this, Gustave," he breathed out.

"It's the Angel of Music, Father, don't you like it?" The boy asked unaware of Raoul's horror.

His grip tightened on the boy as his blood ran cold. Gustave happened to capture that horrid beast's face. It made Raoul's stomach turn, having to look at the deformed face once again. The face of the man who nearly killed him years ago. The absence of a nose, the visible skull, the malformed lips, Gustave captured every twisted feature.

"Gustave, why have you drawn this! Tell me why!" Raoul's hands tightened even more on the boy's sides. His voice was scratchy and hollow.

The boy's face scrunched up in fear, his eyes began to water, and his throat tightened. He'd never seen his father act like this before. "Father, please, you're hurting me," he sobbed out.

Raoul suddenly released the child out of his grips, shocked at what he had done.

"Gustave, please, I never meant to-" Raoul started but Gustave jumped off of his father's lap and ran out of the room, sobbing.

Raoul didn't chase after him, he was still much too shocked of what he'd seen and how he reacted. He never expected to see that twisted face again. He wished to bury that horrible face from his memory under the Opera House. Still, Raoul couldn't believe how his son captured the Phantom's face so perfectly, nor could he believe how he acted. _Oh god_ , _he was horrified of me_ , Raoul thought. Never once had he laid a harsh hand on his son, never once had he spoken that way to his son, that wasn't the man that Raoul was. So why did he act like that?

Christine knocked lightly on the open door to signal she was there.

"Christine," he breathed out.

"Raoul, dearest, what happened? Why is Gustave so scared?" Christine asked worried. She spent the last 10 minutes calming him down and putting him to sleep and she was quite confused.

He wordlessly handed Christine the picture their son had drawn. She let out a gasp. "Erik," she whispered softly. Raoul's head snapped in her direction upon hearing the tenderness in her voice.

"Christine, I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. Our son shouldn't go around, romancing this idea of your beloved Angel of Music," Raoul spat out the words.

"You said that you wouldn't try to take him away from us. You said it yourself, he's important to us," Christine began to feel defensive.

"But that doesn't mean I understand! That doesn't mean that I want our son running around and looking up to that psychopath!" Raoul's voice rose.

"He's not a psychopath," Christine shot back quickly.

"He's manipulated you into thinking he was an Angel sent by your father. He was a false idol. And he took you Christine, he took you and killed so many people. When we were down in his lair, he almost killed me! He wrapped that lasso of his around my neck and tried to force you into marrying him! How could I let our son believe in a man that almost killed me, Christine? And seeing that picture again, I was frightened. I was so scared, it was like I was there on the night of the fire. I was scared to lose you all over again, scared that he would hurt Gustave, and kill me. All that came rushing back once I saw his face. Now I let you tell him those stories, but this has gone too far. It has become too real. Those stories aren't just stories for him anymore. He's starting to believe them."

"Well what does it matter if he believes in them or not? He's _dead,_ Raoul. He _died_. He's not coming back. He can't hurt us. He's gone, buried, dead. Nothing but a mere memory anymore," Christine's voice rose louder and louder until she was close to hysteria.

"Christine," Raoul came rushing over to her side. She hugged him tight, he hugged her tighter. "I'm sorry, Christine," he whispered more apologies into her hair and soon she began to calm down.

"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand. Why do you want our son to remember him, Christine?"

"One good thought. He at least deserves one good thought," Christine mumbled into Raoul's chest.

Raoul realized that he would never understand Christine's affinity to that man. And he knew that if he tried to take that away from her, he would lose her.

"How about we go to sleep now, Raoul. It's been a long day for all of us, we're going to need our rest," Christine suggested.

Raoul let himself be led to their chambers. Both of them dressed silently and got under the covers. Christine was fast asleep, but Raoul was still up. He leaned over to wrap an arm around her and she stirred a bit but fell still after a few moments of shifting. 10 years. It's been 10 years and he is still fighting for Christine. 10 years of fighting a ghost and he needing to sleep with the fact that Christine will always be half in love with a fairytale.

* * *

The next morning, a letter arrived at the Chagny estate.

 _Dear Madame and Monsieur Chagny,_

 _Fondest greetings to you all from Op_ _éra-Comique._ _I'm sure you're aware L'exposition_ _Universelle of 1889 is arriving in Paris in the next coming months. We have been blessed with a chance to perform during this joyous event, and we wish to debut a new soprano. The talents of Madame Daee have been the talk of Paris for years. We would be honored if she joined our humble Opéra for a few performances during this fair. All expenses will be paid for as well as lodgings and transportation, if you do wish to agree._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Opéra-Comique_

The penmanship was sloppy, almost child-like.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Leroux owns the original story, Kay owns _Phantom_ , and ALW owns the music and musical.

* * *

 _She's so beautiful._

Her alabaster skin glowed in the darkness; the slight sheen of perspiration captured what little light was in the bedroom. She was luminescent. Her wayward curls spilled all over to Erik's side of the bed. He didn't care in the least. He inhaled deeply to smell the sweet floral scent emitting from her warm body. He gently trailed a finger down from her cheek to her swanlike neck. She shivered lightly from the contact and curled closer to him. He shifted away from her reach, acting like the child that used to retreat from sunlight.

"Christine," he sang her name like a song.

She made no indication that she heard him, but her lips parted slightly as to tickle Erik's exposed face with her breath. He closed his eyes from the sensation. With a content sigh he rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes to see the darkness of his ceiling.

"Christine… you're so beautiful. _Mon ange_ , how could you let a monster like Erik touch you. You're so perfect. My Christine," he rolled back over to play with her curls, "Will you be that? _My_ Christine? Will you finally belong to your Erik? He will cherish you everyday, he will give you a good life. Yes... he will give you everything you've ever wanted," his eyes glazed over in thought.

"A nice, secluded house close to the Opera, with windows and a garden. You can plant roses and other flowers. In the mornings we can take walks, then I'll read to you, and at night we'll sing. We can… we can get married. A priest… yes, we'll have a priest, one that doesn't mind your Erik's face. You'll make friends with the neighbors, we'll have them over for tea. They won't ask about your Erik's face… because they're nice people and they won't care. I can… take you out for dinner some nights. Take you out to balls… and the people, they'll accept me. Everyone will compliment you on having such a _handsome_ husband. Everything would be perfect," Erik's breathing was becoming erratic. With each new thought the dream seemed further away; fleeting from Erik's reach.

A sleeping Christine was starting to stir at the movements beside her. Her face scrunched up and she turned away from the sounds Erik was making.

"Christine… I can't- I can't think, Christine. Everything's starting to hurt," he clenched his head in pain.

He shot out of bed swiftly, silently and grabbed his black cloak off of the chair beside him. He entered the drawing room and closed the door quickly behind him. He fell down in the chair closest to the door, his body exhausted and mind tired. A glint brought his attention to the mask on the floor.

 _The mask._

Erik had never felt more humiliated and hurt in his life. He picked up the mask from the floor, with a sob, and clutched it to his chest. _What was I thinking. That a horrid monster could live among the living with his beautiful angel? Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. A devil perusing in a man's skin, playing husband, acting normal. Stupid stupid stupid._ _How could Christine want this? To be chained underground, spending the rest of her days with an ugly beast._

He had to get out of here. He had to leave. The longer he stayed the more his stomach churned. He couldn't condemn Christine to a life of darkness. She deserves to live, to live in the warmth of the light. And he couldn't give that to her, nor could he sleep with that fact.

* * *

A week later there was a notice in the newspaper.

 _Erik is dead_.

* * *

After that night with Christine, he was forced onto the streets. The _Opera Populaire_ was nothing but a painful origin of memories and treachery and Erik couldn't stand living in a place that held memories of Christine at every corner.

It was a month before Nadir Khan had found him. When he say the notice in the newspaper; he mourned. However, when he heard reports from people in the town of music coming from the abandoned church, he knew that Erik was alive. They described the music as ethereal sounds coming from the dead of night; a trademark for his friend it seemed. Erik was always a troubled soul, always too dangerous, passionate, and unstable. And because of that, Nadir was horribly worried for him.

But Nadir was shocked with what he saw. He found Erik laying in the pews underneath his black cloak, looking nothing more but a shadow hiding from the window light. He gently peeled the cloak off from his still figure, fearing him to be dead or hurt. This was quickly proven untrue, however, when Nadir found himself in a Punjab Lasso in a matter of seconds.

"Erik! Erik! Calm down!" Nadir flailed in Erik's grasp, trying to make him see reason. The lasso loosened but didn't completely relax.

"Nadir?" Erik's deep voice questioned.

"Yes," the lasso didn't come off however. It just stayed put around Nadir's sore neck.

"Will you take this blasted thing off of me?" Nadir exclaimed. Erik reluctantly complied.

"Why are you here?" Nadir turned around and finally got a look at Erik's face. It was still horrible; ghastly as ever. There was still no nose, and the skull was still exposed but that wasn't what Nadir was shocked at seeing. On his cheeks there were red gashes scabbed over. It looked as though he was clawed. Erik quickly realized he was without his mask and turned away harshly to locate the porcelain mask.

Erik wretched face kept him anyway from any form of happiness. It earned a mother's fear and loathing, denied him from living a normal life, and separated him from his Christine. He just wanted it gone; he just wanted to be handsome for Christine, for his mother, for everyone. They couldn't bear to look at it and Erik couldn't either. He clawed at his deformed face for hours, hoping to rip it off like a mask and reveal a smooth surface, a sharp nose, normal shaped lips, and skin that wasn't tinted with yellow; a face worthy of Christine.

"Leave," Erik's words were chilling and emotionless. It made the hair on Nadir's arms rise.

"Erik, what happened to you," Nadir pushed.

"Nothing of your concern, now leave." Erik finally donned his mask and stood to his full height. The immaculate porcelain gleamed in the light piercing through the church windows. His body was covered in his black cloak and his mouth was in a tight line. For the first time since Persia, Nadir Khan felt scared.

"I saw the notice in the paper," Nadir stood his ground. Erik gave no reply, except for a flash in his eyes.

"Erik, tell me what's going on."

"I shall tell you no such thing, you pesky knave," Erik growled.

Nadir sighed. He forgot that talking to Erik was like talking to a brick wall. He changed his tactic, "I've recently accepted a new job. At an opera house."

This was a small white lie. Nadir in fact, bought the Opera House. It was in dire need of restoration and new management, so it was sold for cheap. Once he saw it, he immediately thought that it was a perfect project for Erik.

Erik's eyes flashed, "What kind of job could you possibly have? You know nothing of the arts."

"Management, actually. Though I do admit to lacking in the arts department. I was perhaps wondering if you might like to assist me?"

Erik gave a heavy sigh, as if he was giving an insistent child a cookie.

"Fine, but only because I know that you would run that place to the ground otherwise. Which opera house would be foolish enough to hire you anyways?" Erik asked while being led out of the church.

"It's called the _Opéra Comique_ , now, let's get you cleaned up. No offense my friend, but you smell like death."

* * *

It was always the same dream. One without any images or light, but of only music. Of her sweet gentle voice playing in his ear. She was singing one of his unwritten melodies. Her light soprano voice floated through the heavens and she soared higher and higher with each note. Erik could feel his heart follow her, his spirits following her wherever she may go. _Christine, you've come back_. He would reach out for her, trying to grasp the girl with the golden voice and each time he would feel the warmth leaving his body.

He had to say it; he had to say it one more time or else his chest would burst.

" _Christine, I love you"_

Erik felt the faintest of warmth touch his ruined face. A kiss.

He woke up in a cold sweat, with his hand clenching the fabric of his sheets, yearning to feel the soft caress of her warm would lie in his bed for hours; remembering the intimacy of her gaze, the feel of her velvet skin against his callused fingers, her deep kisses that would make his heart bleed, and the way her body moved with his. The musical way they moved, spurred on by passion and instinct. Erik's body would tingle with the warmth of the ghostlike memory.

He began to not be able to distinguish the threshold of reality from the strength of his dreams and his mind was beginning to burn. At night, the music in his head would be pure and unearthly, but in the light of day when he tries to pull the music out of his dreams, they would fall flat. The notes would blur into nothing more but smoke and noise and the words would be meaningless. The days started to fade into weeks and weeks faded into months and months turned to years. 9 years. 9 years of aches and pains; of living a mere facade. Of loneliness cloaked around Erik's tortured mind. His spirit was dead, his music, though still profound, was emotionless. Erik spent the days by his piano composing and writing until the night when his frustration builds up to unbearable heights .

Tonight, however, there was a gala; the opening night for _La_ _Bohème_. The show itself was lackluster. It had ran smoothly, the dancing was superb, and the orchestra was decent. Nothing monumental or exciting and Erik almost wished there was a disaster so he could feel something. Anger, at the very least.

Erik watched as the attendants trickled out of the theater and into the ballroom from his seat in Box 5. He was about to leave when he saw a figure step on stage. He stopped breathing once he saw the face that was burned into his soul.

 _Christine_

She walked around stage, gazing nostalgically at the set design. It was like seeing a ghost. Her face was ever so sweet, but her eyes didn't hold that familiar childish gleam. She looked tired, almost. This was no girl that Erik had seen 9 years ago. This was a woman. Erik could feel his heart beating out of his chest and the blood start to rush to his head. Before, he complained about feeling nothing and now it seemed that he felt everything at once. He watched tentative, not quite believing if he was hallucinating.

She walked to the center of the stage and basked in the lights. Her curls gleamed and bounced the light back into the pitch black audience. She looked like she belonged. Christine took a breath and began to sing.

 _Think of me_

 _Think of me fondly_

She was singing the aria to _Hannibal_. It was the first aria she ever performed as Prima Donna. The song they worked months to perfect.

 _Her voice_. _Dear god her voice_. It was weak and too airy. Erik could tell that she was singing in her head voice instead of her chest voice. Her posture was lazy and slouchy, making the sound even more weak. But it was so beautiful. The tone was still worlds above anything he has ever heard before, the pitch was still crystal clear, and he felt his spirit soar. If the floor opened up and swallowed him, he wouldn't mind or, frankly, even notice.

He felt like all of the oxygen had left his lungs and his knees were so incredibly weak. He lurched forward in his seat, falling to the cold floor. Uncontrollable sob after sob ripped through his throat. It seemed that he couldn't find enough air to breath in between the tears. His throat burned with each sob and gasp for air. He tried to muffle his sobs by biting onto his hand; not wanting to alert Christine of his presence. She continued singing, right up until the cadenza. He struggled to peer over the railing to look at her. She had a flush on her cheeks and a dazzling smile that made Erik tremble with longing. She straightened her posture, gained confidence, and sang the cadenza perfectly. The sound was so incredibly clear and vibrant and when she hit the last note… Erik knew he couldn't stay away any longer. He had to have her.

He picked himself up off of the floor and onto wobbly knees. He fixed the orientation of his mask and his attire, wiped off the tears, and cleared his aching throat. He was barely touching the doorknob to his private box when he heard _him_. That fool was here.

"Christine, sweetie, we should be going. Philippe's going to wonder where we are," Raoul gently said.

"Mama, was that you singing? It was beautiful," a small clear voice exclaimed.

A son. She had a son. She was married to the ever so handsome Raoul and had a perfect child. She had moved on. The more Erik thought, the more idiotic he felt. It was stupid to think that Christine could've waited for him. For all these years Erik tricked himself into believing she cared for him; never realizing that it would be foolish to care for a ghost.

 _Christine, oh my dear Christine. You've betrayed me. You treacherous girl, you tricked me into thinking you cared. You tricked your poor naïve Erik into believing that he could be cared for. Well never again, you little viper. Let it be war on you and your family._

Erik was filled with a newfound darkness that he hadn't felt in ages. Soon, he will get his revenge. Soon he will break away from the spell that Christine had on him. With that he vanished into the night, writing music that would burn any innocent soul.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that read, reviewed, and favorited the first chapter. You guys are the best. Please continue to read and review; it makes my day.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but this fictionalization of _Love Never Dies_ and _Phantom of the Opera_

* * *

" _Monsieur Khan, this isn't a good idea."_

" _I'm well aware of that, Madame Giry, but what can we possibly do? He has become obsessed!"_

" _We must do something, this is a young girl's life! She has a family now, a child. We can't let them become part of_ his _sick game."_

" _Well what can we do?_ His _mind is set on this. I've never seen_ him _more determined in my lifetime."_

" _I don't know, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going to give up on the poor girl, just because you're too much of a coward to do anything."_ And with that, the woman walked away.

Nadir stayed put for a few moments, listening to _him_ play through the walls. The melody was simple, nothing more than basic chords, played to a _lento_ tempo marking. The single melody chain repeated itself over and over; continuously floating around. It was filled with loneliness and emptiness, it continued without purpose or change for song was haunting. Nadir couldn't do more than feel incredibly helpless to the chaos that would occur in the upcoming months.

* * *

Raoul, Christine, and Gustave looked around their massive suite. Christine took extra care to look at the golden moldings on the border of the mirror on the left wall. It was ginormous and swirled with intricate designs. She was mesmerized by the craftsmanship of the piece. It reminded her much of the designs in the old opera house. The room was filled with fancy furniture and the curtains were made of expensive fabric. On the ceiling, there were depictions of angels and cherubs drawn to the style of the romantic movement. In the center of the suite was a grand piano, surrounded with lounge chairs and small table with a tea set.

"I hope your suite is to your liking, Madame and Monsieur" the graying Persian said.

Nadir Khan looked at the young couple and their son with a weary expression. They seemed so happy, content. The young Monsieur was looking lovingly at his son and wife; both who seemed like they were glowing with excitement. _Oh, Erik. What have you gotten yourself into_.

"We absolutely adore it, Monsieur Khan. It's extraordinary!" Christine gushed.

"It was much more than we could've ever imagined. Frankly, I believed that we would stay in the ballet rat's dormitory when I heard that we were to room at the opera house," Raoul teased lightly.

Raoul de Chagny was a good man; Nadir could tell by the way he carried himself. He was cordial and a gentleman in every sense. His sandy blonde hair and boyish features made him seem quite young and handsome. He was everything that Erik was not.

Nadir thought briefly of Christine. He couldn't understand why Erik was obsessed with her. She was beautiful, indeed, with her heart-shaped face and high cheekbones. Her chocolate hair was wrapped into a fashionable chignon and her blue dress contrasted beautifully with her milky pale skin. She was beautiful, charming, and polite. But normal. So exceedingly normal. Was this really the girl that drove a man to madness? _Well_ , further into madness.

"Monsieur?" Nadir looked down to the sweet voice that was tugging on his suit tails. He knelt down to his height.

"What is it, child?" Nadir gently asked.

"I was wondering if we could play the piano," Gustave pointed to the grand pianoforte.

"Of course, it's in your suite, is it not?" Nadir smiled. Gustave gave him a beaming grin and ran to the piano. He quickly began to play a simple tune, relishing in the feel of the ivory keys.

"Your son plays wonderfully," Nadir said in astonishment. The young child beamed down at the instrument with a smile that seemed familiar to him. Christine's eyes glazed over with adoration and nostalgia.

"Yes… he plays beautifully," Christine whispered.

Nadir took extra care in watching the emotions in Christine's eyes and the Vicomte's hand that laid on the small of her back. He felt his old, tired, bleeding heart churn.

"I want you both to know… that if anything happens-" Nadir was cut off by a knock on the door. He sighed and went to open it. A young stagehand handed him a note.

" _Blasted piece of shite_ ," he cursed quietly under his breath, clutching the note with the red inking tightly.

"I apologize, but it seems I have some matters to deal with," and with that Nadir stalked off to give a certain masked man a piece of his mind.

Raoul took a seat on their chaise lounge and gave a content sigh, stretching out his tired limbs and Christine took a seat on the piano bench beside Gustave.

"That's lovely, Gustave. Is that Mozart?" Raoul asked, only half listening. Christine and Gustave shared smiled at his amateur ear.

"I heard it when we walked into the Opera house, I thought it was beautiful." Christine gave a hum in reply and kissed him softly on his head. They listened to the boy play for a minutes, content with the peacefulness in the room.

After a while, Raoul sat up and walked over to Gustave and Christine, giving them quick kisses on the head. "I should go see Phillipe now, I want to go over some business with him at the estate."

Gustave and Christine both gave goodbyes and fell back into the peace that was between them before.

"Well, well ,well, are my eyes deceiving me or is that Christine Daae I see in front of me," a female voice drawled from the doorway.

Christine and Gustave both turned around to see a familiar short blonde leaning in the doorway.

"Heaven help me, could it be?" Christine rose to her feet and starting walking towards her.

The blonde spread out her arms to let Christine continue her examination.

"Oh my goodness! Meg!" The two girls tightly embraced each other and started giggling at the rush of seeing an old friend. They both pulled apart and Meg said, "You look radiant, Christine." Christine placed a hand on Meg's cheek and fondly said, "You look the same."

Meg started walking to Gustave who was staring curiously at the two ladies.

"And this must be the Young Daae," Meg gushed.

"My last name is Chagny," Gustave replied confused.

"Believe me sweetheart, you're a Daae," Meg winked at his mother and Christine let out a small smile at the irony of it. Christine took Meg's hand and guided her to the couch.

"Tell me, how have you been," Christine asked with her eyes glittering in excitement. She had missed her friend dearly but lost touch a couple of years after Raoul and Christine became wed.

"Oh it has been the same old, same old. Still dancing, actually gained a spot as the Prima Ballerina."

"Oh, Meg, that's wonderful! You were always a beautiful dancer."

"Yes, well, mother somewhat forced that upon me," Meg cringed thinking about the intense ballet practices that her mother enforced.

Christine let out a sweet laugh, remembering the times when she was apart of the ballet corps.

"How is your mother, are you still living with her?" Christine asked, curiously wondering about the women that use to be her mother figure.

"Oh lord. Don't remind me, please. That senile woman is still teaching ballet here. It has been driving me insane lately. I'm 26 years old, Christine! I'm practically a spinster now and I still have my mother whispering in my ear about how to tie my ballet flats." Meg let out a pitiful groan. Christine let out another giggle and leaned in close.

"Are you really a spinster, Meg? Are you sure there's no one who has caught your eye. I used to remember you were quite popular with the boys back in the day." Meg flushed prettily.

She looked back at Christine's son and gave a warning glance to her.

"Come, I was supposed to give you a tour of this place, but it seems we both got distracted." Meg stood up and gave Christine a hand.

"Gustave, are you coming?" Christine asked the boy at the piano. Once the new girl began chatting with his mother, his interest quickly faded and turned back to his music. He didn't answer her, not quite hearing her to be honest.

Christine let out a rueful smile.

"I don't think he's coming with us, he's lost in his music," she said to Meg.

Meg returned the smile, remembering how her friend was when they were younger.

"Be sure to not leave this room, Gustave. I don't want you wandering off and getting lost." Gustave let out the barest of nods to show that he heard her.

" _So much like your father_ ," Christine said under her breath. Christine didn't mean for the Giry girl to hear, but Meg was already already confused at the statement. Meg brushed it off, however, not quite believing the topic was of much importance.

Meg and Christine walked out, excited to explore the vastness of this new Opera house. They both walked around, giggling to each other like the girls they used to be. They took note of the different dormitories, the beautiful architecture all around, and the stage. Meg took Christine up to the cat walks where they sat, watching all the different dancers and actors rehearsing.

"So tell me, Meg, of that man of yours." Christine gave Meg a nudge with her shoulders.

"Not much to tell, he's kind, polite, and handsome. He has been so sweet to me, oh it has been a dream!" Meg's eyes sparkled at the thought of him. Christine smiled at her friend's enthusiasm.

"What's his name?"

Meg started flushing deeply.

"Meg?" Christine inquired of her strange reaction. Meg took Christine's hands and clasped them tightly.

"Promise you won't tell. Christine, no one must know." Meg pleaded. Christine was confused but agreed nonetheless.

"He's… he's a patron here. His name is Jacque Legrand." Christine's eyes widened in surprise. She and Raoul had met the Legrands at a ball a few years ago, and the Chagny family frequently did business with them. Christine didn't like them very much, they were always arrogant and stuck up. They sneered at her, having heard that she was from low class birth.

"You must not tell though, because if mother finds out she would go crazy. And besides we both have a reputation that we need to maintain here. We can't have people thinking that my success was by winning his favor." Meg continued. Christine let out a nod.

"Don't worry, my friend. I understand, probably better than anyone." Both Christine and Meg gave thought to a decade ago, when Christine was keeping her own relationship with a patron a secret.

"Oh thank you, Christine. You're such a dear friend." She gave the girl a tight hug.

"Meg Giry, aren't you running late to your rehearsal?" A stern voice cracked through the air.

Meg's body tightened in fright. "Madame," she gasped.

Madame Giry simply pointed her walking cane in the other direction and said, "Go."

Meg gave Christine's hand a squeeze goodbye and raced off in the direction her mother was pointing in.

" _Christine Daae_ ," The older woman called out.

Christine gave a small bow, "Madame."

They stared at each other, motionless, for a few moments before breaking into big smiles and giving each other a tight embrace. Both women had missed each other very much, one seeing the other as a daughter, and the other seeing the woman as a mother.

Madame Giry pulled away and put her hands on Christine's cheeks.

"Look at you, you've grown so much. Still beautiful as ever." Christine let out a courteous blush and smiled.

"How have you been, Madame Giry? I'm dreadfully sorry that I couldn't keep touch, it seems that we had lost contact with each other a while ago. Oh, I've missed you and Meg dearly." Christine gushed.

"I've been quite well, my girl. This place has been very good to us for the past several years." Madame Giry suddenly became serious once more and gripped Christine's hands tightly.

"Christine you must leave right now. Take your family and go, this is no place for people like you."

"Madame?" Christine was incredibly confused.

"Christine-" Madame Giry was cut off by a stagehand who handed her a letter.

" _Blasted piece of shite_ ," the older woman cursed under her breath, clutching the note with the red inking tightly.

"Madame!" Christine gasped, not quite believing the words coming out of her mouth.

"I must leave now, but remember. Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"

* * *

"That's beautiful," a smooth timbre said.

Gustave whipped around in fright, immediately taking his hands off the keys. He stared into the face of a tall, brooding, masked man; eyes opened wide in shock.

"Who are you," Gustave inquired. He glanced quickly to the door, relaxing slightly when he saw that it was fully open.

"An old friend," the scary man replied.

"Where are my parents?" Gustave started trembling.

"Dear sweet child, there's no need to fear me," the hypnotic voice replied. Gustave felt himself relaxing more as he listened to the voice.

"Look, I've brought you a present."

A large music box appeared out from behind the man's back. Curiosity took over and Gustave started making his way to the masked man with the box. When he got close enough, the man knelt down to his height and wound the crank. Gustave was mesmerized with the contraption. There was a beautiful porcelain angel on the music box; a brown haired young girl singing to the heavens. The melody was the same one that he had heard earlier today.

"That's incredible, Monsieur, did you make this yourself?" the young boy looked up to the frightening man with glittering eyes, nearly forgetting about his terror.

Erik gave out a light chuckle and stood up. "Indeed I did, child." Erik placed the music box on top of the pianoforte and sat down on the bench.

"Now play me that tune you were playing before."

Gustave quickly sat down and played the simple melody with his right hand.

"Did you write this yourself?" Erik asked, obviously impressed by the young boy's talent.

"Indeed I did," Gustave gave back a toothy grin that Erik couldn't help reciprocate.

"Play that once more," Erik commanded. The boy complied without a word.

Playing in a high octave, Erik played a counter melody that helped balance out the tune that Gustave had created. Gustave stopped in shock.

"That's perfect." Gustave gasped. He was incredibly surprised that this stranger had known exactly what he wanted for his song.

"It was quite simple really," Erik replied. He showed Gustave the part and made him play it on the lower octaves. To Erik's surprise, Gustave picked up the melody incredibly fast.

"What's your name, Monsieur?" Gustave gazed up at Erik with a look of admiration that he hadn't seen in years.

"Call me Monsieur Destler."

* * *

Christine's mind was racing at what Madame Giry said before. _Keep your hand at the level of your eye_. It couldn't be… Christine shook her head at the thought. When she reached her room she saw that the door was open and began to panic.

"Gustave," Christine called out. She saw his back turn around on the piano bench and gave out a cry of relief. She rushed to him and gave him a tight hug.

"Mother, what's wrong?" his sweet innocent voice asked.

"The door was open, I got so worried. Why was the door open, Gustave?" Christine squeezed the boy even tighter.

"Monsieur Destler came to visit, Mother." Christine's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Who is Monsieur Destler?"

"He owns the opera house." Realization dawned on Christine's face.

"Why was he here?"

"I'm not quite sure, but, mother, look!" Gustave took the music box off of the piano and wound the crank.

"Monsieur Destler gave this to me as a gift!"

"That's awfully nice of him," Christine murmured, paying extra close attention to the angel figure that resembled her from her youth. The music box began to play the sweet melody.

"Come on, it has been an exciting day, you should go to sleep," she said. Christine tore her attention away from the music box, still feeling dread fill her stomach.

"Aw, mother, please can I stay up a little longer? I nearly finished the song that I was writing befo-" Gustave cut himself off with a wide yawn. Christine smiled at her son.

"It seems that you're already falling asleep, come, go to your room, my sweet." Christine gave the boy a kiss on his head. He reluctantly nodded and treaded to his room.

Erik watched from behind the mirror, his hand pressed up against the glass. His breath was coming out unsteady and he could feel his heart racing.

 _Christine. My Christine_.

This was the closest he had been to her in a decade, and he could now clearly see her regal swan-like neck and glittering brown eyes. He watched as she pulled her hair out of the chignon. He desperately yearned to run his fingers through her luxurious curls once more and to kiss her pink lips. His eyes followed her around the room as she put away the tea set and fixed the pillows.

The music box began to play their song, from _Don Juan Triumphant_. He watched, hypnotized, as Christine's pretty face turned sheet white.

 _No backward glances_.

Erik flipped the switch near the side of the wall and stood tall as the mirror slid open. Christine looked up in surprise at the moving mirror and stared at the ghost in front of her. Erik barely had enough time to catch her as she fainted.

* * *

A/N: And so Erik and Christine finally reunite! If anyone was interested, the song I had in mind when Erik played in the beginning is Untitled 1 (Vaka) by Sigor Ros. I also recently saw Phantom on Broadway for the second time and it was amazing. I was pretty upset when Barbour didn't perform but his understudy was incredible too. Please R&R, thank you!


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